


The Man in That One Suit

by lynne_monstr



Category: Person of Interest (TV), What Not to Wear RPF
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Finch/Fashion is otp, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stacy and Clinton strive to right a fashion wrong, Reese is mildly offended, and Finch is far more amused than he has any right to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man in That One Suit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for comment_fic on LJ.  
> Prompt was: Person of Interest/What Not to Wear, Finch, Perfection.
> 
> I like to think this is a snippet of a larger case-fic (that I'll probably never write).

“The poor guy only has one suit!”  
  
The man – Clinton was his name, Reese remembered—looked forlornly at the open closet of the apartment with an expression more suited to Bear than a grown man. Luckily, the closet in question was one of the rare spaces that didn’t boast any guns inside.  
  
Any visible guns, at least.  
  
Keeping his face bland, Reese slid one foot slightly to the left, hoping nobody noticed the telltale glint of light on metal. Nothing to see here. Once he was sure no one had noticed, he shifted position without seeming to move, silently sweeping the room. Still no threat.  
  
Then the words registered and he cleared his throat, a little bit insulted despite himself. He was _The Man in the Suit_ ; he worked hard for that type of consistency. “I have plenty of—”  
  
“But it’s all the _same suit._ ”  
  
The two television hosts shared a bemused glance.  
  
“Now he, on the other hand.” The co-host, Stacy, chimed in, walking over to Finch and appraising him from head to toe.  
  
“A study in perfection,” Clinton agreed, a finger lightly tapping his lip in appreciation.  
  
“Look at the fit on that jacket. The break on those slacks.”  
  
“The way the pattern and colors compliment but don’t overwhelm. Divine!”  
  
Finch, he noticed, looked far too self-satisfied at this particular turn of events. Not that he did anything as crass as showing it, but there was a lightness around his eyes that suggested he was preening on the inside.  
  
Reese felt the eyes on him just as Stacy turned back to him. His fingers twitched and he longed for his gun.  
  
“Have you considered adding a vest to your ensemble? Maybe a tie for that pop of color?” She grabbed a bright blue tie from the wardrobe crew and held it up at arm’s length, head tilted in contemplation. A brisk shake of her head ended the scrutiny and she flapped the hand towards Finch, tie and all. “You could learn a lot from you friend here.”  
  
“Actually he’s my—” Reese cut himself off just in time. It was a mark of how unexpected this whole ordeal was that he almost said _employer_. Because Rooney and Crane were not employer and employee, they were business associates and friends.  
  
Both their hosts’ faces lit up, a delighted, “Oh” issuing from Clinton as they glanced between the two of them.  
  
Reese caught Finch’s eye from across the room. It was going to be a long day.


End file.
